Despite having God on our side and winning nearly every game in the last minute, our horrendous injury list continues to grow. This time the world's greatest hooker, Kieron Cunningham is crocked.
Daniel's down to his last 20 players for the trip to Perpignan on Saturday and told Sky Sports:
"If I lose another player now, someone is going to have to give up a day of work or come out of school, that's how light we are."
I reckon that even though I've not actually played for 40 years, my close Ibiza proximity to the Catalan region could lead to Daniel picking up the phone. Let's face it, I wouldn't be the oldest player ever to turn out for Saints, Frankie Wilson will hold that record for ever.
Talking of rugby, when we moved from our Rugby League playing junior school to the Union territory of Cowley Grammar, we'd just witnessed one of Saint's finest teams sweep all before them in 1966. A monstrous pack containing Ray French, John Mantle and Cliff Watson, made it easy for our backs with Alex Murphy at the helm and Vollenhoven and Killeen on the wings to lay waste to opposition defences.
Quite naturally kicking away possession up the touchline was anathema to us. We wanted to 'pick up the ball and run' but were drilled incessantly by our coach Ray French in the noble art of kicking the ball into the crowd. Despite this we still managed to monster our way through all the big-softies-without-a-clue who played for grammar schools in Fylde, the Wirral and Cheshire.
One day kicking the ball away really did provide us with entertainment. The pitch at King's School Macclesfield had a river running alongside it and the first time we booted to touch the ball went in, followed by a posh kid to retrieve it. So we did it again, and another one went in, and then another, and another until the whole team was drenched soaking wet on a cold Saturday afternoon.
Anyway, the point is, if they diverted the Thames past Twickenham, then something a little more entertaining than watching red and white paint dry might happen.
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